i stand in a corner, quietly happy

while hurting

i wonder how people do it // how they can laugh and have fun // how their hair seems to be alive // how they can be so charismatic // because whenever i try to // adjust myself to the social dynamic // or attitude of the group // it never works // and i end up being the listening but never noticed // they say people like good listeners // but no one even sees us // and that scares me that i can never interact with a group as a whole // i sit on a balcony // watching the meadow where people do cart-wheels // or play volleyball in the grass or just having free conversations // yelling in joy and i want to live like them // but i can't // it fucking terrifies me // that no one will ever hear or even see me however much // i try to be like them // however hard i try // my parents don't know either // if they did they'd call me a retard // like they always do // because it's my fault that they never allowed me to be like everyone else // i don't know who to tell because // no one will understand // they'd just ask "why? why are you scared?" // and it scares me even more because i- i don't know why